08-29-2017, 09:40 PM
 i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take The silence after his words feels like an eternity. Though he is pressed against her, his head buried in her lavender mane, she has not reacted. She is still – so still. Still like the fish get when he lurks on the river bottom, still like prey. He almost flinches when she finally does move. Her touch is feather light against his shoudler, and as she speaks, he pulls away so that she can see his nod. Yes – an accident. Truly. Ivar’s dark eyes remain on her face even as she looks back to Ischia. She is regretting coming here, he knows, she is doubting everything. He can’t blame her. He can’t do anything more than apologize and hope that it is enough. When she reaches toward him again, he almost thinks he is imagining it. Her touch is very real though, warm and soft against the cool of his pale scales. The stallion returns the touch with hesitant affection, brushing her smooth cheek gently for moment before pulling away. “Never again,” He promises. And then, because he is as eager to move forward as she is, he looks away from her and toward that beach. “That,” he says, gesturing toward the nest, “That right there.” The first hatchling has already reached the water, but most of its siblings are still struggling to climb out of the sand. The turtles are half the size of one of Ivar’s hooves, tiny little shells with too-big flippers and bright black eyes. “I saw the mother laying them months ago,” he explains. “She was huge! Bigger than any horse I’ve ever seen. I’ve been watching and another nest down the beach hatched last night, so I knew this one would probably be tonight.” |